Unwanted desire
by Elenielwen
Summary: A solitary elf... the last man of his kind. The ancient and deadly Noldo elf Izthelion is not out to settle down, and does not believe in love. Joining the wardens of Lórien under Haldir's rule, he begins to change. The Valár's weaving of fate is ever so complex, and once a chain of events are set in motion, an unlikely love and tragedy might strike... Both books and Movie -verse
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hey guys! My name is Elenielwen aka "the river hippo" right now haha! (I AM pregnant so I FEEL like a hippo .) Going to try out a LOTR fanfic for the first time.. Wish me luck! :D **

**Now.. I don't want to waste time writing a long author's note, but as usual there are some things I do need to say.**

**First of all, I'm not a native speaker. Secondly, I work as an editor, however that leaves little time to edit my own stuff, so if I make huge errors, please tell me so I can correct them. Third, please tell me what you think of my plot, my OC etc, I appreciate all the feedback I can get! Then lastly, I don't mind critique as long as it is kept on a level that is possible to learn something from ;) Meaning I am asking you to refrain from flaming me ;)**

**Warnings:**

Same sex attraction, meaning A MALE LOVING ANOTHER MALE 3

Will contain lime (light sexual encounters)

May contain lemons (explicit encounters)

Contains gore

Contains an OC (!)

Mainly follows the books but with a touch of the movies if needed

_The world itself and its inhabitants are not AU although the setting/plot could be considered as AU_

Disclaimer:

I do NOT own any of Tolkien's work or Peter Jacksons interpretations!

Unwanted desire

Prologue

A blood chilling howl echoed over the plains. In its wake followed another, soon joined a chorus of snarls and howls that were carried on the slightly chilly autumn wind.

A lone rider, all covered in ragged looking clothes, sped by as a blood curling howl echoed on the plains, this time not so far away from the fleeing rider.

Long dark tousled hair swirled behind the rider as it steered the bay horse to the left. Another howl was followed by a loud string of sharp sounding words. The almost eerie silence that followed was quickly broken by loud noises of metal grinding against metal.

The horse snorted in fear as it raced on in uncontrollable panic, the rider clinging to its dark mane as to not fall off from the speed. The stallion's brown hooves pounded into the ground as it barely avoided a sizzling arrow coming towards its hindquarters.

The rider let go of the mane and grabbed the reins to try and control the panicked animal as it bucked in protest. Long dark horse hair mixed with a curtain of long black tresses as the horse boomed on.

The grassy land's tall dead grass soon turned into yellowing forest vegetation.

The rider took a firmer hold of the reins, ducking for a pair of mallorn branches just as the pursuers turned up behind the horse.

Trying to flank the fleeing rider, the wargs snarled as their orc riders aimed their arrows towards the horse's muscled sides and back to try to make it turn back.

Ducking again and yanking the reins, the rider raised a glimmering and slender sword to defend the defenceless mount from the oncoming attacks. Having to focus intently to be able to dodge each arrow, the rider failed to notice the presence of more wargs just besides the two.

With a screeching halt that caused a spray of dirt, the horse whinnied in fear and reared up. A large brown warg, almost as large as the horse, broke the formation, rushing towards the bucking animal with blinding speed. The rider barely had the time to yank at the horse's reins to stop the bucking as the creature's massive jaws snapped towards the animal's front legs. The horse whinnied once more and reared up, rolling its eyes in pure fear.

With another yank of the reins, the rider swept down swiftly to the side with the lean looking sword, effectively cutting off the foul creature's head before it could injure the mount. The rider of the warg, a grimy four-foot tall orc wearing nothing but filthy looking pieces of cloth and some ring mail armour, growled in menace as he fell to the ground with a clanking sound.

The horse whinnied again as the foul creature fell, once more rearing up as the rider tried to steady the now incredibly sweaty animal. Its large flanks heaved as it shook from the effort.

Then rolling its eyes in panic, the horse darted away when yet another arrow came sizzling towards its hind quarters.

This time the blackened arrow reached its target.

With a whinny, the horse bucked and kicked, just avoiding another black arrow hitting its front leg. The rider steadied itself in the saddle and quickly switched to an intricate carved wooden bow, aiming towards the place the arrows had come from.

Large mallorn trees with long arched branches passed by in a blur as the horse raced on, its neck and body covered in a thick layer of white sweat.

The air of the beautiful forest was filled with the stench of filth, sweat and blood as the rider took aim at another warg dashing towards them. A high pitched yelp sounded as it fell to the ground, a wooden arrow sticking right out its large head. The rider of the vile animal may have been an orc, but it had no chance to catch up on the fleeing rider. A string of curses in a language that made the rider cringe echoed as the pursuit went on.

The entire area was filled snarls and howls as the rider tried to make its exhausted and wounded mount run faster all the while firing arrows in motions faster than the eye could blink.

But the more creatures that were killed, the more there seemed to appear, until the gigantic mallorn tree trunks' beige was completely drowned out by black and brown.

All of a sudden the wounded horse tripped on a protruding root, throwing the rider off as the it fell like a heavy rock. A loud thud and a crunching noise as if snapping a large branch in half sounded as the horse hit the ground.

The rugged leather cape of the rider tore as the horse thrashed its back legs and body that had gotten tangled in the material.

One white and bloody bone was protruding out of its left front leg, and the other leg lay in an abnormal angle. The rider looked at the horse, then braced itself against the seemingly endless wave of wargs coming towards them. With a motion too fast to catch with the bare eye, the rider slit the horse's throat.

The horse shuddered and groaned as the thrashing slowly stopped.

The rider lowered its head for a fraction of a second in respect to the courageous animal and offered a sentence of respect, just as the first wave of wargs hit. Moving faster than the eye could blink, the rider picked up the lean sword from the ground and countered a snapping jaw.

The warg growled as the blade located itself into its maw, the large creature furiously shaking its head and rearing up.

With another just as quick motion, the rider took out pair of twin daggers and ended both the orc's and warg's life with practised ease. A spurt of blood came out, as black as the night. The stench was almost unbearable for one without a strong stomach as the orc's innards poured onto the ground. But the paid no heed and quickly grabbed its sword lodged in the foul oversized warg's mouth. The creature was still shaking in death throes as the sword loosened with a plop.

Barely having time to breathe between the attacks, another maw snapped towards the rider along with the raking of massive claws. With an agile movement, the rider plunged the bloody blade into the snapping maw. The warg gurgled on the steel and fell and immediately the rider whirled to meet another attacker. The dead warg's rider was quicker than the last, swinging an axe towards the rider's unprotected back.

Sensing danger from behind, the rider quickly rolled away and sped towards the only path that wasn't littered with dead bodies. A loud string of gurgling noises and sharp sounding words followed as the small orc and other warg riders took pursuit.

Knowing one against a dozen were bad odds, the leathery clad figure headed into the woods followed by a chorus of frustrated howls and angry curses.

How long would the rider last? The orcs' strategy was most obviously to tire their prey out, as they swarmed the place on all sides, effectively cutting off the retreat.

Parrying an arrow, the hood of the rider fell off revealing a dirty and angular face. Long dark hair hung down, clotted with blood and grime.

But there was no doubt it was a man behind the mask of grime and dirt. A pair of purple eyes narrowed in veiled disgust as the snarling creatures descended upon him like a furious wave of black.

Parrying jagged swords on each side, the man barely had the time to duck and dodge as an foul smelling arrow sizzled past his high cheekbone, leaving a long stripe of filth. The arrow, causing a current of air, revealed a slender yet pointed ear.

It was an elf.

Mocking laughs sounded from every direction as the rider rolled away from a pair of massive paws.

"You know you gonna lose pretty one! Give up now and we might take it easy on you!" an orc with a deformed head screeched.

Its sickly yellow eyes shone with malice as it licked his broken lips.

"We will bring you to the master! He will eat your flesh, slippery one!" laughed another orc who was missing two fingers.

His too large head was full of spikes and intimidating metal piercings. A few of which pus oozed from, adding to the vile stench of the twisted creature.

"He will gorge on your eyes, yes he will!" yet another grunted out, barely able to say the words with heavy accent of its own language.

The orcs laughed in chorus at that, and the wargs chimed in as the man disposed of one more of his pursuers.

But despite having lowered the numbers of enemies, it soon became apparent that the elf was fighting a losing battle. No matter how many heads he cut off or how many wargs that fell, there seemed to be just too many to replace the last.

The man's clotted hair fell around him like a curtain, glued to the leathery outfit.

Parrying two sets of jagged swords, the rider was forced to jump away to keep his balance. The ground had become increasingly hard to fight on, the more bodies and innards that befouled it.

And the smell was... overwhelming.

Even the battle hardened elven man seemed to have trouble not gagging.

But as he spun to dodge another set of swords, he had to bend his upper body as well to avoid the snapping of a pair of jaws. What he had not counted on was the arrows that swiftly lodged themselves in his right and left shoulder.

The flinch he made was enough for one of the wargs to make a lucky sweep of claws on the man's chest. With a sharp exhale of air, the only indication the attack had hit, the man quickly rolled on the ground on reflex.

With another exhale, the elf was just as quick to rise and try to roll away from another pair of jaws. But the movement was not fast enough.

Slowed down by the bleeding, a grotesque paw hit home and raked through leather and into flesh. A slight squelching sound was heard as the fair pale skin underneath the protective gear split open. This time there was a gasp of pain from the man as he stumbled backwards, the entire back bleeding profusely.

The orcs laughed in triumph as the elf stumbled backwards and was forced to roll to the side, barely avoiding another attack from a sweeping axe. Hissing in pain, the elf parried it, but the force of the strike had him falling backwards.

Dark clotted hair mixed with leaves and dirt as he stumbled upwards, but was immediately shoved backwards by a punch in the stomach.

With an "oof" he fell, dizzy from the loss of blood. It was hard to get up again, but the rider forced himself, barely parrying a strike that had his head ringing from the force.

Had he not heard them correctly? Did they not want him alive? At this rate, he was not going to last that long.

But the elf would not surrender willingly. However as seconds turned into minutes, and the orc only laughed while relentlessly struck, though not in vital areas, it became clear that he had lost the battle.

The elf had managed to cut down their numbers to ten, but ten against one were bad odds even for an uninjured person.

Distracted by a sudden dizziness and onslaught of nausea, the rider failed to dodge an oncoming punch.

The punch hit his solar plexus, and with a gasp of pain the elf keeled over from the force.

Despite knowing the battle was lost, he still tried to stand up and defend himself. His legs wobbled and his sight was blurry as another punch landed in his face, sending him sprawling for good on the grimy ground. With fervour, the elven man gripped his slippery sword, not ready to surrender freely. But his limbs would not obey.

The effort to block the kick that came hurling towards his bruised and bloody body was futile. The force had him gasping and coughing up a large amount of blood.

The orc laughed at the elf's futile struggle, and as the elf tried to raise the sword once more the orc kicked the weapon away.

With a demeaning comment, the orc then put a foot on the man's face, all the while signalling to the ones around them.

The last thing the elf heard before everything went black, was a chorus of mocking laughter followed by a whizzing of arrows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Unwanted desire**

**Chapter 2**

It was the smell of newly baked bread and fresh fruit that greeted his senses when he woke up from the feeling of having someone in the close vicinity.

He stretched our, feeling the effects of sleeping deep and well instantly. For once, he felt.. rested.

As Izthelion fully opened his eyes, he spotted the young apprentice Rënya standing just by the bed. She smiled somewhat shyly as she handed him the tray of the delicious smelling food. Though the smell coming from the wooden cup on the tray was less pleasant, but he guessed it must be some sort of healing concoction. A bit reluctantly he took a sip, knowing he needed the cup's contents. The strange liquid tasted like a mix of herbs and bitter tea.

Trying not to show just _how_ bitter the taste had been, he quickly took a bite of the fruit to drown it out. The sweetness instantly replaced everything else. He chewed slowly, enjoying eating fresh fruit for the first time since a very, very long time.

Smiling, the young female named Rënya made a questioning gesture towards the tray and he nodded with a smile.

It was good, he conveyed to her and she beamed.

As he took a bite of the bread, he had to close his eyes for a second to enjoy the warmth and delicious sweetness that had the taste buds dancing in his mouth. The bread was warm, and unbelievably fresh in its taste, yet sturdy at the same time. He quickly felt himself getting filled up as he took another bite, savouring the mix of flavours that spread in his mouth cavity.

Opening his eyes again, he felt his lips turning into a content smile. It was too long ago he ate fresh food. The life as wanderer usually left him with sustaining himself on nothing but lembas and dried meat or fruits. Sometimes nuts and roots if he found any. Although he had loved that way of life, the life of a wanderer was not a luxurious one.

As he swallowed the last piece of bread, there was a low knock on the door.

The young healer turned towards the sound.

"_Neledhia!"**_

On cue, the door silently opened. Izthelion's eyes widened a fraction at the sight that followed.

In came one of the most beautiful and tall male elf he had ever seen. He had met Glorfindel once, but that was a long ago.. but not even the golden lord could compare to this being of moonlight.

The young healer curtseyed to the fair haired elf and he inclined his head at her gesture.

It was hard not to stare and admire the half long moonlight hair that fell down broad shoulders. The man of hair was cut short just above the waist. The elf himself wore the same braids up on his beautiful head that all the woodland kin wore if they were of warrior status. Finely pointed ears proudly stood out with no hair to cover them. The man's eyes were a deep grey against pale unmarred skin, and the gaze that fell upon Izthelion was cold yet not condescending.

The entire elf's aura spoke of long battle-hardened years and all the tragedies that came with living for a long time.

A steely gaze took Izthelion in and he fought not to let it show on his face that he wanted to suddenly shiver.

Quickly lowering his gaze in deference, he found himself looking at a type of armour he had never seen before. It was a complex looking type of armour that seemed to be made by part golden and part brown leather. The armour fit snugly to the was the man's lean, yet sturdy body. On his side hung a long lean sword with Tengwar letters along the dull side and across his body was a big longbow, it's wood also full of Tengwar writings. Once more he had to blink to stop himself from admiring the elf in front of him.

All in all, the elf was the splitting image of what a captain or leader would be, especially the way the man practically radiated dominance and confidence. He had no doubt that this man was the March warden of Lothlórien. The authority radiating off the handsome elf was unmistakable and he was glad he had lowered his head as quickly as he had.

Izthelion quickly decided to take another sip of the healing concoction and forced himself once more to not frown at how bitter it was. Like most elves, he disliked a bitter taste.

Then he bowed deferentially to the March warden. Izthelion felt his curtain of tangled hair hide half of his face and hoped he did not appear rudely bed ragged to the commander of wardens. He had not been warned in advance, and so he had not had the time to polish himself to propriety.

"I bid thee a good morning, March warden of Lothlórien" Izthelion broke the silence by speaking softly and politely in Quenya.

"Good morning, warrior Izthelion. My name is Haldir, the March warden of Lothlórien, and I have arrived to escort you to the Lady of light." the man swiftly answered in a just as perfect Quenya.

Izthelion automatically looked up at that and their eyes met. Steely grey met purple as Izthelion tucked the unruly hair behind his ear to get a better look at the handsome elf.

Gone was the coldness in those grey depths. It had been replaced by something undefinable, and the commander's face had gone expressionless.

Gulping down the last of the bitter draught, Izthelion all of a sudden noticed the female was downright staring at him from the side. He felt an awkward feeling beginning to rise. Blinking he turned his gaze back to the tray of food and distracted himself by commenting on the morning weather.

The March warden answered just as politely, but his tone of voice was flat.

Swallowing the last bite of the fruit, Izthelion politely made a comment about the food to the young healer. The March warden surprised him by translating. The young woman nodded and beamed.

Realizing he must have lain there for quite some time, Ithelion quickly moved the empty tray to the side and stood.

As his thick hair fell in a tangled mass down his shoulders and all the way down to his rump, he was reminded that he had no clothes to wear besides the silken sleeping tunic and breeches... and no hair brush. Suffice to say, he could not arrive in front of a queen in sleeping wear while having hair that looked like a hurricane had blown through it.

Looking around, Izthelion was thankfully led by the young female to a grey and silver outfit splayed across one of the wooden chairs. The outfit looked like a practical version of a noble's suit. The tunic looked snug, yet elegant at the same time, and had long sleeves that looked just as snug as the leggings.

It was most unusual for him to put anything on besides armour. Doing so here, in a place where there were people he knew nothing of made him feel... out-of-place and vulnerable.

Besides, he was a former craftsman that had turned into a warrior. He did not belong wearing such a finely tailored outfit.. and silk did not provide any protection against injury.

Shaking his head at the oddness that had been his life since he woke up, he reluctantly picked up the tunic first. The fabric was soft against the touch, a dark grey that was adorned by silver embroidery of leaves reaching all around the upper part of the tunic. The outfit even had a high neck, something he knew most nobles of Imladris wore, but he had never seen anyone of lower birth wear a high necked outfit.

Trying not to show just how strange he felt wearing such fine clothing, he put on the leggings without hesitation. They fit snugly to his toned yet slim legs and he was pleased that they seemed to fit so well.

As he began to feel rude taking such a long time to dress, he quickly combed through his long hair with his fingers, making sure that no strand was left in disorder. With deft fingers he then braided the hair warrior-style, revealing his own somewhat sharply pointed ears.

It was interesting to find his own boots standing in front of him instead of a pair of just as luxurious ones as the rest of his outfit, but he was thankful nonetheless. Perhaps even more so since he got to wear something that felt like himself. He noticed the leather was completely free from grime as he put them on. His boots had been cleaned, and smelled of some sort of aromatic flower.

Izthelion fought the strange feeling that rose within his chest. He was definitely not used to this kind of … pampering.

Distracted, he refused to dwell upon the next strange feeling that followed as the young female came to his side and bowed her head deferentially to him while gesturing towards the door.

Blinking he forced himself to keep his gaze straight forward. But he was most certainly not used to this kind of... treatment.

He was no noble, and he was not the woman's superior. Izthelion did not know what to make of anything any more. Their royal treament of him made no sense. It was _he_ that owed _them_, not the other way around.

Moving towards the door while feeling like a young woman dressed up for her courting, his right hand twitched on reflex at his side. It met the air and he blinked, only just then noticing he ha subconsciously felt for his trusted sword. Finding nothing there made him feel even more alien. The fact that he carried no weapon made him the perfect target for an enemy of someone who wished him harm. Though there was most likely no elves in Lothlórien meaning him harm, especially not since he knew elves shunned the hurting of a kin, he definitely felt... odd walking into an unknown situation without any means of protection besides that of his fists and legs.

He wondered if they would give him back his weapons. Surely they must have found them by his side where he had fallen?

The March warden cleared his throat, cutting him off from his thoughts. Bowing his head in acknowledgement of him having been rude to get caught up in his own thoughts, he quickly moved to join the March warden and young healer at the door.

"Forgive me for my distraction, March warden of Lothlórien" he said while lowering his head.

He felt the aura of authority rise before it lowered once more.

"Shall we?" was the only reply, but he could hear the frost in those single words.

Stopping behind the fair elf Izthelion waited patiently for the March warden to head out first. A few seconds passed, but the moonlight elf made no further movement.

Somewhat confused at that, he turned his gaze to the healer and then back in a silent question.

The March warden made a sweeping motion towards the door, urging him to head out first.

His Noldórin blood and inner self gave off a strong feeling of wrongness as he obeyed the silent request and opened the door, heading out before the other two.

Would he ever get used to this strange era?

Translations from Sindarín:

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